Of A Trick Step and Magic Mistletoe
by fueledbyglitter
Summary: Companion one-shot to To Catch A Snitch. New Years. Sirius x Charlie. "Oh, fuck. Yes he was. He was going to do it. And of course I wasn't trying to stop it. Not with the fourteen-year-old lunatic inside me screaming in triumph. "


A/N: Hello dears! I decided to do this for New Year's, since I've gotten requests to do a separate, Charlie x Sirius story. I hope you guys enjoy it! Happy New Year c:

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Kudos to The Beatles, Smashmouth and Oasis.

* * *

New Year's Eve, 1976

* * *

(Part _The Ballad of John and Yoko_: Charlotte)

If one got right down to it, it all happened because my mother was being ridiculously stubborn.

I can assure you the irony of the situation is not lost on me.

It _would _be my mother of all people who actually brought us together.

After she so graciously decided to veto my request to spend New Years with Lily and her mother in Paris, I decided to decline her invitation to spend the Christmas holidays at home and opted instead to stay at Hogwarts.

_That _can be considered Shit Decision #1.

It would turn out that few of us would be staying at Hogwarts. Lily was, of course, going on holiday. Marlene was going to her grandparents, and Mary was going to spend Christmas with that dodgy Hufflepuff of hers and his parents. That left me all alone in the dormitory. Only twenty-six students total would be staying at the castle for the holidays. This made for a pretty much deserted Hogwarts.

Shit Decision #2 was deciding to stay anyway.

It was just like me to believe that I could avoid him for the entirety of the holiday; especially when one considered that we were the only two Gryffindors who had stayed. That's right. Not even Frankie First Year was there to act as a buffer. So what could I do, but avoid the long-haired Beater from Hell.

Okay, that was a bit mean. He wasn't all that bad. But I couldn't face him the same way since that incident in the locker room—the one that involved minimal amounts of clothing and during which I almost kissed him but changed my mind at the last minute like the fucking chicken I was...

I should've been put in Hufflepuff.

I tried. I honestly tried to forget about him—back in fourth year, when this whole mess of a crush even started. I tried not to be attracted to his ridiculously charming smile or his long, roguish hair or his hypnotizing blue eyes. I tried so hard not to fancy Sirius Black, of all people. _I tried_.

The original Shit Decision was eventually deciding to just go with it and hope it passed.

And as of December 1976, almost two years later, it—i.e., my demented infatuation with him—wasn't going anywhere.

As much as I love Christmas, the near empty castle became stuffy in no time and I needed to get out of Gryffindor Tower, Merlin forbid I ran into him or something equally awful. The three and a half feet of snow we got the day before New Year's Eve meant flying was out of the question, and Shit Decision #3 took _that _as its cue to enter.

I decided to take a late-afternoon walk through the castle, because I'd be damned if my sorry arse was going to freeze off on the grounds. I fancied myself smart.

Boy, was I wrong.

I felt proud. Happy because it was New Year's Eve, and despite being technically completely alone, I was just as manically excited for the holidays as every other year.

I'd been able to avoid Sirius since our last exchange on his birthday, and it was that excitement—the false sense of security that I'd been lured into by three days of not seeing him—which caused me to completely forget the vanishing trick-step halfway down the second staircase to the fourth floor and step right onto it.

"_Fucking hell_!"

And of course, no one was around to hear me curse the heavens when I tried to continue on my way and discovered I was stuck, my leg sunk in all the way up to mid-calf of my jeans.

I groaned in exasperation. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fucking sodding _shit_."

Using the banister as leverage, I pulled, trying to get my foot out. It was hopeless, of course. Each of Hogwarts' many trick-steps was a miniature hell in its own right, and this particular one was one of the most annoying. It wouldn't let you out until it ruddy wanted to.

Hell, the only reason I even knew about it was because that moron Taylor Fischer got stuck in it in third year and she still held the record. She was stuck for just under nine hours when the step finally released her and all the while that she was trapped, the girl wailed like a bloody banshee for everyone to hear.

Needless to say, I did _not _want to be the one to break Taylor Fischer's record.

It took a while but I finally resigned myself to my predicament. Merely for the sake of catharsis, I swore a bit—and rather loudly.

And that, I was to learn a couple minutes later, was Shit Decision #4.

I heard him before I saw him, just as I recognized the pattern, the familiar—and, to my biased ears, smug—nature of his loud footfalls and the dread settled itself in the pit of my stomach. And then he turned the corner and was there, mere feet from where I was trapped.

"Lottie," he grinned.

I tried so very hard to stay cool. Inside I was shaking like a leaf. "Black."

"What's a fine lady like yourself doing here, all alone on New Year's?" he asked.

"Folk dancing," I replied dryly. "What does it look like I'm doing, Black?"

He laughed. The smarmy git took one look at my trapped leg and had the audacity to laugh. And what's worse: I found it attractive! The way he cocked his head to one side to get his long hair out of his eyes. _Merlin._

_No, bad Charlie! Don't fucking ogle him!_

"That explains the swearing. And just when I thought I'd learned all the curse words the English language had to offer. Not to mention, I think I heard some Spanish and French, too."

Oh wait, he was still talking. To me.

One second passed. Two.

_Say something, dipshit!_

I went for a (hopefully) smug little smirk and a: "Well, if you're going to learn to curse, you might as well do it properly."

And judging by the amused look on his face, he fell for it. My fake smirk morphed into a real one for the entirety of three solid seconds, until he decided to sit down next to me. And panic set in.

I hadn't been able to handle Sirius in close proximity to my person since I realised I fancied his sorry arse.

It was just his hair. Yes, again with that. But in my defence, Sirius had really nice hair. And that I could just make out a small cluster of freckles just below his jaw that I'd love to just—

_What in the hell is wrong with me?_

Maybe it was fumes or something. Yes, that was it.

There's nothing quite like the smell of warm, reckless teenage boy.

But back to where we were. I shook my head as he adjusted his pants and tried very, _very _hard not to look down at his crotch. I failed miserably.

_Pervert. I am a sick, debauched soul. They might as well save me a seat in hell._

The loathsome git completely noticed that I was trying not to look at his goods—and failing. He smirked, and I was infinitely grateful for my complexion which rarely let a blush show.

'Rarely' just wasn't good enough, apparently.

"You're blushing," he pointed out, grinning.

"No, I'm not," I lied. I tried to change the subject and he pulled a cigarette and lighter out of his pocket. "Might I ask _what _you plan on doing?"

"You?"

"I meant sitting next to me, pervert."

He lit the fag and leaned back on his elbows. _Merlin help me._ "Seeing as _that_," he pointed to the pranking bit of architecture that had me ensnared, "will most likely keep you here for quite a while, and we're the only Gryffindors in this place, I figure we might as well keep each other company."

"Great," I replied with what was intended to be withering sarcasm. "Any girl's dream: to be trapped in a stairwell on New Year's with Sirius Black."

He kept smoking. Merlin, was it feasible to want someone to stay next to you and at the same time want them as far away from you as physically possible?

"Come off it, Lottie. Dozens of girls would kill to spend the last day of the year with _me_."

The answer was yes, it was _very _feasible.

I crossed my arms and raised an eyebrow at him, trying very hard not to melt at how he said the nickname. "Were you always this cocky? Oh, wait. Yes, you were."

He smirked and exhaled another cloud of smoke. "Were you always this bitchy?"

I gasped, offended. Possibly to calm my oncoming wrath: "No, you weren't. You were rather sweet, actually. Opinionated, bossy and hot-headed, but sweet all the same."

I blushed. "Yes, well," I cleared my throat, "we've all grown up, Sirius."

He nodded, then froze for a second and looked at me with the most quizzical expression on his face.

"What?" I asked.

"You called me Sirius," he said simply, leaning over to put out the cigarette.

"Well, it's _your name_," I said, still not getting it.

"No. I mean, yes," he amended quickly. "But you've never called me 'Sirius', it's always _Black this _or _Black that _or _damn it, Black, stop trying to look up my skirt!_"

I laughed. "I hadn't thought about it. You've never called me Charlie or Charlotte. It's always _Lottie this _or _Lottie that _or _Lottie, let me have a look at your—_

"Don't!" he said, covering my mouth with one of his hands. I fought my way free.

"Stop manhandling me, Black."

"Don't finish that sentence."

"Why not? You did say it," I smirked.

"I was drunk!"

"As if your morals when sober are any better."

He blushed. I grinned. "Oh-ho, who's blushing now?"

"Sod off, Lottie."

"Oh, how the mighty have fallen."

"_Anyway_," he said, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Don't any of your little girlfriends get jealous that you have a special pet name just for me?"

He smirked. "Don't yours?"

"I don't date women."

"So that rumour about you and Emmeline getting it on in the showers—"

I slapped his shoulder. Hard. "You pervert!"

"What? I'm just asking!" he laughed. I scowled. "All right, all right. Not true. I got it. And to answer your question, they didn't. Well, almost all of them."

_Didn't. Hm, mental note to self: ask about past tense later._

"Ignoring how that statement made you sound like the biggest slag to ever grace the Earth, _almost_? I'm intrigued."

Sirius grimaced. "Ignoring how you just called me a slag... Bianca wasn't fond of it."

"Bianca?" I echoed, indignant. "As in Taylor? The miniature gossiping tart? How come? I mean what's it to her if you—"

I promptly shut up, realizing I'd said too much. He raised an eyebrow at my sudden show of emotion—not to mention my blush—but let it pass.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid!_

"She didn't like that I had a nickname for you and not one for her. 'Bianca' doesn't give one much to work with, see."

"Well, if you've called me Lottie for five and a half years, who's she to stop it."

"Plus there's that whole thing about having seen you in nothing but your knickers, as well."

"What does that have to do with anything?" I nearly shrieked. "And I was wearing a bra, too, if my memory serves."

"Were you?"

"Yes."

"Hmm," he stroked his jaw thoughtfully. "Must've been one of my dreams then."

"You know, if I keep calling you a pervert this often the word will eventually lose all meaning."

"Stop calling me a pervert, then."

"Stop acting like one."

"Touché."

I pulled up my knees and wrapped my arms around them. It was a few seconds before he noticed.

"Hey! You're free!"

I looked down. "Fuck, yes!"

Sirius stood up while I laughed and revelled in being able to use my leg again. He held out a hand to help me up and I took it. He pulled me up a bit _too _enthusiastically, though, and we ended up so close together on the staircase that our chests were touching. I looked up at his eyes and saw he was just as surprised as I was. But neither of us moved. His hand still held mine.

_His shirt. His jumper. My jumper. My shirt. My bra. Five layers in between us. Five layers too many._

Merlin's wand, was I a goner.

I had to look anywhere. Anywhere but his eyes or my rubbish Gryffindor instincts were going to take over and I'd snog the living daylights out of him. So I decided to look up.

And that was Shit Decision #6.

Because _up _was precisely the only thing I could possibly look at in that exact moment worse than Sirius Black's eyes.

Mistletoe.

"Oh, _fuck_," I swore in what was barely a whisper.

He heard anyway. And he looked up, too, to feast his eyes on the holiday plant from hell.

See—like everything at Hogwarts—this mistletoe was not just any old regular, run-of-the-mill mistletoe. It was charmed mistletoe, a tradition no doubt thought up by some deluded, amorous Hufflepuff. Only a Hufflepuff would find a parasitic plant romantic.

Though, perhaps it was a cousin of Satan's in Slytherin.

The point is that this mistletoe had a particularity. Whenever two members of the opposite sex with the right amount of tension—sexual or otherwise—were within inches of each other, the mistletoe would appear. They would kiss and the mistletoe would disappear to harass some other pair of unsuspecting lovers-to-be. If they didn't, the mistletoe would simply follow them around until they kissed or—in some rare cases—it got bored and moved on.

It goes without saying that the Magic Mistletoe (as sadists affectionately called it) had revealed many a fancy and started up quite a few relationships in all its years.

And I was caught under it with Sirius Orion motherfucking Black.

I snapped my eyes back to his, not even bothering to hide my panic. "Magic Mistletoe," I said lamely. He just nodded, looked back up at the treacherous plant and then at me. I watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed and took a breath.

He wasn't going to actually do it, was he?

"Don't move," he whispered, letting go of my hand.

Oh, fuck.

Yes he was.

He was going to do it.

And of course I wasn't trying to stop it. Not with the fourteen-year-old lunatic inside me screaming in triumph as he took my chin between his fingers and breached the final inch between us.

I couldn't remember closing my eyes if I tried. But I had closed them, because a second later all I could feel was the pressure of his lips on mine. It was firm, soft but passionate and with just a hint of possessiveness. And something else bubbling under the surface: like a shock of electricity passing through us on contact. Everything a hopeless romantic would say a first kiss _should _be.

And all too soon, his lips were gone. I opened my eyes to find him looking at me with those blue irises of his, wide and filled with panic. I was just about to open my mouth to speak when he stopped me.

"I shouldn't have done that," was what he said.

And before I could react, he ran back down the stairs the way he had come what felt like a million years ago, taking care not to tread on the step that had trapped me and caused the whole predicament in the first place.

Five full seconds passed before the full blow of what had happened struck.

And boy, did it hurt.

_He kissed me. _

_The son of a bitch actually kissed me!_

_And then he—oh fucking hell._

I did the only logical thing that came to mind at the moment. I ran, too, in the opposite direction. I ran fast and tears I didn't want blurred my vision, but I knew the way back by heart. I didn't stop to take a breath until I skidded to a halt in front of the Fat Lady.

"Minotaur," I choked out, wiping the tears from my face. But it was useless, more kept coming.

"My dear girl!" The nosy portrait exclaimed. "What's wrong?"

"Mino-fucking-taur, or so help me Merlin..."

The Fat Lady didn't need another warning. She pursed her lips at my swearing and let me pass, and I broke into a run again, not stopping until I reached the dormitory, shut the door behind me and collapsed onto my bed, still crying.

* * *

(Part _Walking On The Sun_: Sirius)

I should've gone home with James.

Things would've been a lot simpler if I'd just gone home with James.

But no. I decided to be a prat and brood by myself at Hogwarts, because I hadn't even seen Lottie in the four days since she congratulated me on my birthday and she was the only other Gryffindor who'd stayed at the castle.

I wasn't avoiding her. I wasn't, really.

But you just can't look a girl in the face the same way after you've seen her in just her kit and subsequently daydreamed about the occurrence on a regular basis.

Bloody hell.

The point is, I wasn't avoiding her.

I don't even know why I did it, I honestly don't.

I was minding my own business, headed back from nice trip to the kitchens. I decided to head up to Gryffindor Tower through the east wing instead of the west, taking the short way to the common room.

The moral of the story here is that you should always take the long way.

Again, I was minding my own business on the second floor, about to take the stairs up to the third when I heard her voice.

"Well, bloody fucking Merlin's left rotten kidney, _la puta madre!_ _Merde_, I can't fucking believe this. For the love of fuck!"

Sniggering lightly to myself, I took the remaining stairs two at a time. Sure, it was loud, but who bloody cared. Stealth was not my middle name, last I checked.

I slowed down just before reaching the landing between the third and fourth floor and that was when I saw her. She looked positively miserable and not at all surprised to see me, with her right leg sunk up to mid-calf in the trick step halfway up the stairs. Her hair was an unholy mess as usual, framing her face and spilling over her shoulders in dark waves and curls.

"Lottie," I grinned at her.

"Black," she said coolly.

"What's a fine lady like yourself doing here, all alone on New Year's?" I asked, slipping my hands into the pockets of my trousers.

"Folk dancing," she replied sardonically. "What does it look like I'm doing, Black?"

I tried not to laugh. I honestly did. But the entire situation was too hilarious. So I laughed, and she gave me a nasty glare.

"That explains the swearing," I said. "And just when I thought I'd learned all the curse words the English language had to offer. Not to mention, I think I heard some Spanish and French, too."

She stared at me for two whole seconds, as if seeing me for the first time. "Well, if you're going to learn to curse, you might as well do it properly."

I couldn't think of anything else to say. Damn this girl, she always knew how to shut me up. So I did the only thing I could come up with; I walked over and sat next to her. Because, you know, why the hell not.

It was a bad idea and I should've known it.

See, Lottie has this particular smell. It's a bit like cinnamon and a lot like vanilla and if you get really close to her, you can just catch the fruity scent of her shampoo. It's bloody intoxicating.

And it may or may not have made me want to snog the everlasting hell out of her.

Mostly to distract myself from actually looking at the infuriating bird, I made a show of adjusting my pockets, only to look up and find her staring at my family jewels.

She realized I had noticed her staring and blushed. I smirked. She blushed an even deeper shade, somewhat impressive for her olive skin tone.

"You're blushing," I grinned.

"No, I'm not," she insisted. Liar.

I shrugged and pulled out my lighter and a cigarette from my pocket.

"Might I ask what you plan on doing?" she questioned.

"You?" was my cheeky response.

Her eyes narrowed. "I meant sitting next to me, pervert."

I lit the fag, leaning back on the steps behind me.

I pointed at the step that had ensnared her leg. "Seeing as _that_ will most likely keep you here for quite a while, and we're the only Gryffindors in this place, I figure we might as well keep each other company."

_I actually have nothing better to do but I don't want to say I actually want to stay with you and possibly engage in immoral activities._

"Great," she replied with what was obviously intended to be withering sarcasm. "Any girl's dream: to be trapped in a stairwell on New Year's with Sirius Black."

I snorted out a trail of smoke. "Come off it, Lottie. Dozens of girls would kill to spend the last day of the year with me."

She crossed her arms over her chest and I tried very, very hard not to look at how her jumper tightened around her form when she did that. "Were you always this cocky?" she said. "Oh, wait. Yes, you were."

I smirked and exhaled another cloud of smoke whilst trying to come up with a good comeback. "Were you always this bitchy?"

She gasped and her eyes momentarily screamed bloody murder.

_Bingo._

But it wouldn't do to have her actually kill me. "No, you weren't," I went on. I figured I might as well listen to Moony for once and tell the truth. "You were rather sweet, actually. Opinionated, bossy and hot-headed, but sweet all the same."

She blushed darker than before. "Yes, well, we've all grown up, Sirius."

I nodded before realization dawned on me and I just stared at the girl who was most definitely going to be the death of me.

"What?" she asked, her eyebrows high on her forehead.

"You called me Sirius," I said, putting out the fag.

"Well, it's your name," she said. Daft, daft bird. Daft bird that drove me mad.

"No. I mean, yes. But you've never called me 'Sirius'," I pointed out. "It's always _Black this_ or _Black that_ or _damn it, Black, stop trying to look up my skirt!_"

She laughed. Lottie had the loudest, most outrageous laugh I'd ever heard. I used to find it annoying, even, but—like its owner—it had grown on me. "I hadn't thought about it," she said. After a minute: "You've never called me Charlie or Charlotte. It's always _Lottie this_ or _Lottie that_ or _Lottie, let me have a look at your—_

"Don't!" My eyes went wide at the memory and I covered her mouth before she finished the sentence I'd yelled at her during a drunken, post-Quidditch match haze.

"Stop manhandling me, Black," she said once she'd wrestled her way free.

"Don't finish that sentence," I warned. She smirked.

"Why not? You did say it."

"I was drunk!" I said defensively.

"As if your morals when sober are any better," she scoffed.

I blushed. _Please don't let her notice_.

"Oh-ho, who's blushing now?"

_Shit._

"Sod off, Lottie."

"Oh, how the mighty have fallen," she grinned.

"_Anyway_," I said pointedly, desperate to change the subject.

"Don't any of your little girlfriends get jealous that you have a special pet name just for me?"

Now, _that _I didn't expect. Lottie didn't usually ask about who I dated, if you could even call it that.

"Don't yours?"

"I don't date women," she said.

"So that rumour about you and Emmeline getting it on in the showers—"

She slapped me but her reaction was worth it. "You pervert!"

"What? I'm just asking!" I laughed. She scowled. "Alright, alright. Not true. I got it. And to answer your question, they didn't. Well, almost all of them."

'_Didn't', eh?_ _So, Sirius, are you acknowledging that you have completely given up on picking up another bird since you noticed this one right under your nose?_

_Wait, what?!_

"Ignoring how that statement made you sound like the biggest slag to ever grace the Earth, _almost_? I'm intrigued."

I winced. "Ignoring how you just called me a slag... Bianca wasn't fond of it."

"Bianca?" she echoed. "As in Taylor? The miniature gossiping tart? How come? I mean what's it to her if you—"

Then she shut up very abruptly, stared straight ahead and blushed again. For some reason, I decided not to tease her about it.

_I've gone soft. I'm turning into Remus, I swear. _

"She didn't like that I had a nickname for you and not one for her. 'Bianca' doesn't give one much to work with, see."

"Well, if you've called me Lottie for five and a half years, who's she to stop it."

"Plus there's that whole thing about having seen you in nothing but your knickers, as well."

_Yes, you complete dolt. Bring it up, why not._

"What does that have to do with anything?" she shrieked. "And I was wearing a bra, too, if my memory serves."

"Were you?" I teased.

"Yes."

"Hmm, must've been one of my dreams then."

_And now you're openly flirting with her. Merlin's wand, man, pull yourself together!_

"You know, if I keep calling you a pervert this often the word will eventually lose all meaning," she said.

"Stop calling me a pervert, then," I shot back.

"Stop acting like one."

_Damn._

"Touché."

She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. A few seconds passed and it was obvious she hadn't noticed that the trick-step had released her.

"Hey! You're free!"

She looked down and her face broke out into the brightest smile. "Fuck, yes!"

I stood while she stretched her legs and offered her a hand up. She took it and I pulled, harder than I meant to and she wound up pressed against my chest.

The seconds ticked by and all I could do was count the different shades of brown, amber and gold in her eyes to distract myself from staring at her lips.

Send me to Hufflepuff already, I was a goner.

She looked up, obviously avoiding my gaze and her eyes widened an impossible amount.

"Oh, _fuck_," she whispered.

I don't think I was meant to hear. I don't know what superior force compelled me to look up. But I did, and one would think I set eyes on Death itself.

Mistletoe.

Oh fuck, indeed.

Out of all the annoying tricks Hogwarts had up its sleeve, Magic Mistletoe had to be the worst.

And I was caught under it with a girl I actually did want to snog.

I couldn't decide if it was a blessing or a curse. Not until her panicked eyes locked on mine and she vaguely murmured, "Magic Mistletoe."

I decided on blessing, at least for the moment. I nodded, shot the godforsaken plant a look of farewell and looked back at her. She studied my face so intently I was sure she knew I was going to do it.

"Don't move," I whispered.

Yes, I was going to kiss her.

Releasing her hand and trying not to dwell on the fact that she was putting up no resistance, I took her chin between my fingers. She closed her eyes and I followed, our lips meeting in the middle just a second later.

It was firm, soft but passionate and with just a hint of possessiveness. And something else bubbling under the surface: like a shock of electricity passing through us on contact. Everything a hopeless romantic would say a first kiss should be.

It was also terrifying.

I broke away from her before instinct took over. She opened her eyes and opened her mouth to speak, looking confused.

"I shouldn't have done that," I blurted out before she said anything.

And then, completely confirming my theory—the one about my turning into a Hufflepuff—I ran away.

From her.

From the startling realisation that I did, completely and irrevocably fancy Charlotte Turner.

I just ran.

I ran back the way I'd come what seemed like hours before, and I didn't bother stopping until I reached the snow covered grounds. It was freezing, but the cold helped me focus so I didn't mind it. I took deep, heaving breaths, completely winded from the run I took to get where I was.

_I need to quit smoking. _

"Bloody hell."

It's a shocking thing, to realise you fancy someone just like that, completely out of the blue.

To grasp that someone you've known for years managed to sneak up on you and have it hit you at the precise worse moment. It's scary.

It took me nearly forty-five minutes of walking around to calm down. All I know is that by the time I went back into the castle, my fingers were numb, my trainers soaked through and I was shaking like mad. In the stress of the moment, I'd forgotten I had my wand on me. I pulled it out and cast a quick charm to warm myself, returning the feeling in my hands. I walked up to Gryffindor Tower, vaguely aware that dinner would be served in a while.

When I reached the Fat Lady, she had a look of disapproval on her face I didn't even know was possible for a painting at least a century and a half old. But I had more urgent matters to worry about.

"Did Charlotte Turner come through here?"

The Fat Lady glared at me. "You can bet your bottom she did! And in a right state, too—"

I rolled my eyes. "I don't take shit from my mother and I sure as hell am not going to take it from an ancient portrait, so do us both a favour and let me in, will you?"

"Pass—"

"Minotaur."

And with a final disapproving glare, she let me in.

* * *

(Part Go The Fuck Away: Charlotte)

I heard his footsteps before his voice, as always. I wasn't crying anymore—thank goodness—but my face was most likely splotchy as hell and my nose was probably red and swollen. When I heard his knock on the door, I managed to conceal the surprise fairly well.

"What the fuck do you want?" I called. My voice, intended to be intimidating, cracked.

"Lottie..."

His tone was just soft enough that if it weren't for the absolute silence in the dormitory I would never have heard him. Suddenly angered, I heaved myself up from the bed and stomped over to the door.

"How'd you even get up the stairs?" I asked, but didn't give him a chance to answer. "Never mind, don't answer that, I don't want to know. Just go away."

Yes, I told him to leave. Hola, Shit Decision #7.

"Lottie, come on."

"No, I don't want to talk to you; I just want you to go the fuck away."

I rested my back against the door and heard him breathe deeply. "Just..."

"_Sirius_..."

"I'm sorry."

"Go away."

"But—"

"Don't make me say it again."

I waited until I heard him leave to slide down onto the rug. Pulling my knees into my chest, I buried my face in my arms and just let it happen. I cried until I didn't have any more tears to spill, which was a long fucking time as a matter of fact.

If I concentrated, I could still feel his lips on mine.

_Well fuck _you, _Sirius Black._

* * *

(Part _Wonderwall_: Again, Charlotte)

I didn't come out of my room until it well after eleven o'clock. The only reason I even realised time had passed was the rumbling in my stomach. I'd missed dinner, of course. After a shower to wash away the numbness in my limbs and the salty tear tracks on my face, I decided to bring on Shit Decision #8 and leave the dormitory. Wrapping my dressing gown tightly around myself, I tiptoed down the stairs and onto the landing.

The tiptoeing part was absolutely ridiculous, seeing as the only other person in the dormitory was probably awake anyways. Just for the sake of curiosity, I walked up the steps to the boy's dormitory and peaked inside. It smelled distinctly of teenage boy, but as it had been occupied by only one teenage boy in the past week, Sirius' scent was everywhere.

_If that wasn't a Shit Decision #9, I don't know what is. _

The room was empty, which left two possibilities:

1) Sirius was down in the common room, brooding.

2) He'd snuck out after curfew and was roaming the castle like a ghost.

Closing the door and desperately praying for option number two, I went down the remaining floors and stopped at the last step just before entering the common room. He was sitting on the couch in front of the hearth, facing the roaring fire. Shirtless.

_Yes, by all means. Make this harder and more awkward than it's already bound to be._

His elbows were on his knees, his shoulders hunched, with all the muscles in his back flexed and stretched in a way that made my insides squirm with longing.

_Oh, how I'd love to just scratch the hell out of that—_

_Bloody hell woman, get a grip on yourself._

I cleared my throat. His head snapped around so fast it was a wonder he didn't crack his neck. We stared at each other for exactly ten seconds.

I would know. I counted them.

_Put on your big girl knickers and deal with this, Charlie. _

"Mind if I join you?" I asked. My voice came out much lower than I meant it to.

He shook his head. "Not at all."

I walked over to him just as he moved over to make room for me on the couch. We sat in silence for a couple minutes, staring at the flames. The only noise in the room besides the crackling of the fire and our breathing was that infernal ticking of the clock up on the wall.

Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

_Someone needs to Avada that clock into Kingdom Come. _

"Listen," I said finally. "I—"

"No, wait," he interrupted me. "I just—I need to get this out and I need you to hear it. I'm sorry I ran off. I just—I needed to think."

"I don't hold that against you," I said. "Hell, I probably would've run off too, if I—"

I snapped my mouth shut and went back to staring at my hands. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him turn to look at me, his interested eyes boring a hole in the side of my head. Seconds later, the question I was expecting—but was in no way prepared for—came.

"If you what?"

I took a deep breath.

_Better out than in, I guess. Shit Decision #10, here goes nothing._

"Well, I don't know about you; but where I come from, if you've fancied a bloke for two years the last thing you do is run away when he finally kisses you."

I didn't have to look at him to know what his face looked like: his eyebrows would be hovering somewhere near his hairline, his blue eyes wide and his mouth in the shape of a near-perfect _O._

"Don't look so shocked," I said, half-amused, half-petrified. "You had it coming."

The clock ticked 11:55.

_This has _got _to be fucking karma._

Tick-tock, tick-tock.

_I can't believe he isn't saying anything._

Tick-tock, tick-tock.

_I am going to smash the shit out of that fucking clock._

"Say something," I said finally, not able to bear the silence.

Tick-tock.

"I knew I shouldn't have kissed you," I muttered, rising from my seat.

_This whole thing was Shit Decision #11._

I turned to walk back up to my dormitory, but he grabbed my wrist and flung me around, his hands plunging themselves in my hair and effectively stopping my squeal of protest with his lips. My other hand ended up pressed against his chest, ready to push him away at any minute, but my resolve broke rather fast. We kissed for three, five, ten, twenty ticks of the clock, our lips moving together in a scarily familiar rhythm, as if we had done this a million times before. Obviously we hadn't. His hands found my waist and mine his neck and we kept on kissing, completely oblivious to everything else. And it wasn't until another ten ticks of the clock later that I remembered my purpose and actually did shove him away.

"What in the _fucking hell _do you think you're doing?" I shrieked, stepping away from his shirtless self before I jumped the bastard.

"Bloody hell, Lottie," he said. "You can't be _that _thick."

I stared at him. He sighed, hands resting on his hips and gave me the once-over. "I don't regret kissing you," he said. "Not this afternoon, and not now. In fact, I'd like to do it again and again until one of us dies from air deprivation. You're going to ask if I'm attracted to you, or even like you or fancy you, and it's all of the above. Can we just—can we _try_ and see where _this_," he gestured vaguely between the two of us, "takes us?"

_Holy fucking hippogriffs. _

I contemplated his words, giving _him _the once over, gnawing furiously on my lower lip as I tried to make a decision. The clock ticked on and on. It was almost midnight.

Just fifteen seconds.

_I've never had a New Year's kiss._

Twelve seconds.

_I mean, there are worse things than a whatever-this-is with Sirius Black. Death, maybe, and waffles without maple syrup. It wouldn't be so bad._

Five seconds.

"Oh, fuck it," I said, launching myself forward and into his arms just as the clock struck midnight.

_Shit Decision #12_, I thought as we kissed again. _Hello, 1977._

* * *

A/N: Reviews are a kiss on New Year's at midnight.

xo, Sam.


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